


and there's sugar in my windpipes, and cotton in my ears, but i'll make it okay

by netherfriends



Series: and if my skin turns black and my knees start to ache will it be alright [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Confusing, Gen, Honey, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Memories, Metaphors, Nostalgia, Post-Exile, Time - Freeform, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, that won't make sense unless you read this, weird vague metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netherfriends/pseuds/netherfriends
Summary: he's sacrificed his soul for the ones he cares about, just to keep them close. it doesn't work, it never works. they're all gone, and it hurts to breathe some nights. there's honey in his lungs, sluggish and sweet and too heavy. he can't breathe, it's weighing him down.everybody says breathe, but the deeper he breathes the more bees fly down his throat. he's probably got a little nest, sucking away at his lifespan.
Relationships: Eret & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Tommyinnit & Pain
Series: and if my skin turns black and my knees start to ache will it be alright [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149365
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62





	and there's sugar in my windpipes, and cotton in my ears, but i'll make it okay

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at 4am after listening to cavetown so hell if i know what's happening

loving is giving, and god tommy has given so much.

loving hurts, loving hurts so much. ripping apart chunks of himself to hand them to others hurts, but he does it. it's too late, it's too late. it feels too late, he can't think straight. is it too late? he needs a sign, someone give a sign that it's not too late. is he running out of time, is it okay.

_it won't be okay, but you can pretend_

he knows why it hurt so much in exile, because he needs someone. whether it be the warm embrace of tubbo, or the cold hand of dream, he needed someone. people ground him, keep him in the moment. because otherwise he'll just slip away, he doesn't want to slip away.

he misses when everything felt light, so much lighter. he could just float away. his iconic shirt, red and white, the one he was always wearing in his memories, is too small. but he feels smaller than he's ever been. but he didn't do it good enough, didn't do it right.

what does it mean when somebody says sorry? he doesn't recognize it anymore, is it true regret or just formality?

_sorry for manipulating you_

_sorry for taking one of your lives_

_sorry for taking your brother away_

_sorry for destroying your home_

he's lost far too many days in his life, and he surely won't get sleep tonight, but it's alright. it's easy, because it's nothing to him. just gotta let it happen, let it be. he's cold, he's so cold, but these people are burning. 

maybe if he hugs them long enough, they'll freeze.

what does it mean when his body is fuzzy? _i think that i'm gone, i think that i'm going_

he's sacrificed his soul for the ones he cares about, just to keep them close. it doesn't work, it never works. they're all gone, and it hurts to breathe some nights. there's honey in his lungs, sluggish and sweet and too heavy. he can't breathe, it's weighing him down.

everybody says breathe, but the deeper he breathes the more bees fly down his throat. he's probably got a little nest, sucking away at his lifespan. maybe they'll turn into butterflies, which is as crazy as saying if he loses enough blood maybe the honey in his lungs will drip out.

everybody scares tommy but him

nobody scares him but himself

he's pretty scary, or maybe he's just a coward.

his friend gave him some discs and he kept them near his heart for three whole months. but his friend stripped his bones and took them away. they are the things that remind him of better days. they make him smile for a while until it goes away.

_everybody scares tommy but him_

_nobody scares him like himself_

_he's pretty scary, or maybe he's just a coward._

promises that they'll work this out, hear each other out. but they're difficult, they'll tell them anything. they'll work it out, and then mess it up again.

he could call it quits, stop dwelling on the criminals of his past. but sorry, his conditions critical. there's soda fizz stuck in his bloodstream, honey in his lungs, discs near his heart, diagnosis? probably attention seeking.

_it doesn't really matter._

is this real?

_you know what's real_

his home burning at his fingers

how to feel?

_you know how to feel_

love love love, give give give. an endless cycle of buzzing madness, in which he contains the mess he is and then leaks all over. blood dripping onto his fingers, and it's blue. blue like the owner of a bee farm. blue like the cold eyes of that bee farm owner exiling him. blue like the dye that a ghost of someone he didn't really know gave him, sopping up his feelings until the blue turned black. 

_feel too much, too much, it hurts, it doesn't hurt because he doesn't know what's real and he doesn't know how to feel_

maybe if his pale lips can just plant a kiss onto his black stained knuckles it'll be alright. it'll be alright. _he can't make it alright, oh god he can't make it alright_

the exile was premeditated isolation and yet it still bites. but it's in the past, and time doesn't matter when oh god he's gonna die. 

the blue is dripping through the holes in ghostbur's skull, filling all his sad memories with blue.

_i'm not alright i'm not alright_

**make it alright**

_i can't_

**why not**

_it hurts_

**then make it not hurt**

_i can't_

he can't hope, because the faker the hope the more painful the outcome. the more painful his thoughts. maybe he should just get in his thick skull that of course it won't be easy, and that's just the way it is, that he should deal with it. he's so tired of his whining.

he'll hammer these thoughts into his skin until they feel queasy.

_been in this state_

_been in this state_

_this state of underlining fear, of black smoke choking down his words. blood getting caught between his teeth. if he cracks open his ribcage, will he be free? no more discs, no more honey, just a rotting corpse with a cocoon of bee's in his soul, finally being able to fly free. no flesh cage to confine them anymore._

he paid for this life, but he thinks that he tore it up in his dream last night. it made him feel, and feeling something is nice at least, but he just wants someone there for him. someone to stay.

but nobody's here, so he'll tear out his hair, and break all his bones. and it's okay, he'll be okay, but not today.

are we okay

_**i don't think so** _

**get up**

your day is never gonna turn out exactly how you want

and that's fine, because he'll hold himself, in place of someone else. and he knows, oh he knows, none of this will matter half as much as he thought. maybe he'll learn a little self love, because he's not half as bad as he thought.

_nobody gets exactly what they want_

_**what do you want** _

he wants to get away, to be safe. for his arms to feel less sore, for his body to stop buzzing, for there to be no honey clogging up his lungs, for no discs cutting up his hearts (ruining his relationships). the soda fizz in his blood will turn so cold that it will be gone, the bee's in him will drink up the honey, the discs will burn and so will his past, but that will be okay to him.

but his body is too weak to elevate his thoughts, so he will slip, and he won't be able to stop. his broken body will crash on the floor, and it's both too overwhelming and underwhelming.

he will fall onto the ground, and the dirt will get lost in his head and he won't know how to get it out. he won't pull himself up, won't care to, because one day he will be underground and he won't be able to pull himself out anyway.

but that won't happen, because he's not going out today, for the day is lost anyway.

_head_

_shoulders_

_knees_

_toes_

tnt in his throat

living is much harder than dying so why try

**one last life**

_make it count, make it count_

remembering sunsets spent sitting on a bench, soft music fuzzing in his ears. one time they fell asleep, and then woke up and felt like it had been weeks.

now it truly has been.

tubbo had told him to have a good time, and so he will. becoming disconnected with himself has really put into perspective how important every friend is who makes him want to live.

( _and this time it's okay to cry_ )

collecting flowers with eret to plant them in a garden together

("you're welcome anytime in my dreams."

a smile.)

muddy hands and climbing trees

singing songs while the world keeps turning

red and white shirts and hide and seek

it's all coming back.

while his friends keep moving on without him, he'll remember them always. and no matter how much it hurts to be abandoned, it's not goodbye just see you later.

and while later will never come, it'll be okay.

and while now he takes a box stuffed with memories that had been stuffed away in a van, recovered prier to recent explosions, and opens it up. he'll take out a recipe, a pair of sunglasses, a string to a guitar, a small bee keychain, a notebook filled to the last page with sketches, and then he'll pry out a picture, lost to the very bottom of the box. and it will have figures in it, figures that are laughing with glee in their hearts and a shine in their eyes. they have not yet been tainted by the dangers of this server, for they are still young and pure and living.

and tommy will bring the box to his house, and sometimes he can't bare to look at the items in it, because he doesn't deserve the knowledge that the past did happen, it wasn't all a dream that he had to eventually wake up to. he's not strong enough for that, not strong enough, but one day he will be.

he'll start today.

so he'll sing until his skin starts to feel something, and breathe until the beat starts to mean something, and since it's not a lot of fun to think about everyone you're letting down he will. so he'll build a hotel, and he'll play games again, and he'll grin again, and the honey will ooze out of his system until breathing is natural and laughing is natural. and so the nest of bee's in his chest will finally pack up and leave, and he'll be able to live again.

his blood will turn a brilliant red again, and he'll be warm, so warm. tommy will be able to be wrapped in the embrace of someone who cares, someone who's warm, and he will be burning but it will be okay.

he'll love without consequence, and he won't be whole ever again but it'll be okay, it'll be alright.


End file.
